


Do apprentices dream of Azran sheep?

by TheMockingJ3



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series, Layton's Mystery Detective Agency, Layton's Mystery Journey
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dreams and Nightmares, Episode 35 spoilers, Gen, LMJ theories, Layton Mystery Detective Agency Spoilers, Luke Is A Good Uncle, POV Second Person, Spoilers for the Anime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 13:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17023446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMockingJ3/pseuds/TheMockingJ3
Summary: It’s cold and you can’t sleep.





	Do apprentices dream of Azran sheep?

It’s cold...

You snuggle under the blanket and press your face against the pillow. The scent of lavender washing powder soothes you. Still, you shiver.

Did you leave the window open for Toppy last night? You should check, but it’s too chilly to move. Hopefully, Toppy’s found a nest to hide in... 

You curl up in your own blanket nest with a groan. Are you coming down with something? You can’t afford to be ill right now...

Someone knocks on your door. The noise makes you burrow deeper under the blanket. 

_“Luke?”_

_Dad?_ How has long has it been since you talked to him— really  _talked_? More than anything, you want to let him in, but you can’t bear to get out of bed.

Maybe if he came in, he could lift you up in the blanket... 

Wait, no— the door’s locked on your side. He can only enter if he solves the puzzle. You try to tell him, but your words are swallowed by the blanket. 

_“D...Dad!”_

Why does your voice sound like that? Shouldn’t it be deeper if you have a cold? 

Your breathing quickens. The air is thin and frigid, even under the blanket. 

_“Get out!”_

You kick your legs feebly and whimper like a dog suffering from a bad dream. 

Why can’t Dad hear you? Where’s Mum? When will Professor Layton get here?

What if he’s not coming?

No one’s coming. You have to do this on your own. 

Your frostbitten toes curl in on themselves. Your fists grip the blanket and refuse to let go. 

You think of Emmy, clenching her fists before a fight. The memory fills you with strength. You kick, punch and hurl the blanket aside. 

* * *

You bolt up in bed. Your gaze flits around a room too large and fancy to be your own. It’s night but neon lights shine through a window that nearly takes up the whole wall. You can make out the professor’s form lying in the king-sized bed next to yours. 

This is... the Reunion Inn, Monte d’Or. 

“P-professor...?” Your whisper creates a puff of white air. The adrenaline rush from your nightmare wears off. The cold starts to set in. 

Monte d’Or shouldn’t be anywhere near this temperature. 

“Professor, w-wake up!” The floor is icy beneath your feet but you force yourself over to the professor. You clamber onto his bed and shake his shoulder. He keeps sleeping, still as stone. 

_“I’m afraid he won’t stir. Not for a long time.”_

There’s a cruel laugh. Quivering, you turn your head to the window. A figure, garbed in gold and billowing white robes, has emerged from behind the curtain. The sight of a tall hat would usually be a comfort. Now, it’s imposing and grotesque, like a reflection warped by a carnival mirror. 

With deliberate slowness, the monster steps towards you and the professor. 

Your fists clench. Emmy springs to mind again. 

Emmy... She’s in the room right above you! 

Shouting for her, you scramble back against the bed’s headboard as a pale white hand stretches towards you. 

_“Stay away from them!”_

He can’t touch you. You’ll end up like the professor. 

“Sorry, Professor!” you yelp as you leap off the bed. You skid across the tiles till you hit the door. The door handle is frozen stiff when you pull it. 

“Emmy!” you cry. Your bangs on the door are met with banging from the other side. 

“ _I’ll get you out!”_  The voice is fierce but it doesn’t belong to Emmy and it doesn’t reassure you in the slightest. She would never leave you and the professor. She was meant to protect you— she promised!

Didn’t she? You stare at the door’s juddering handle. 

The monster is upon you now, fingers nipping at your neck. 

It draws back when the door opens. 

You’re blinded with light. 

* * *

It’s still cold, but much brighter now. 

Your vision is distorted, as if you’re gazing through a glacier.

A girl stands before you. Not Emmy, unfortunately. Her hair looks wavy but lighter than Emmy’s. Her eyes are bright blue, distraught and fixed on you. 

She presses her hand against the ice. 

You want to do the same, but you’re frozen in place. You wish you could comfort her because... because that’s what a gentleman does, isn’t it? 

More than that though, you feel a connection. You know her. You  _knew_  her. 

That’s why you’re here. You were searching for something... for her. 

Something  _for her_? A present? Was it her birthday? Maybe she’d like cake or chocolate—

Or maybe that’s just your stomach talking. When was the last time you ate?

No cake, then. You were after something far more important— the girl’s distress is evidence of that. 

Now her eyes are spilling over with tears. 

When she wipes the tears away, you notice the pendant around her wrist. It has a silver chain and a round pink stone. 

You recognize it. Why would you cause her so much grief over some stones?

There has to be a good reason—

She glances over her shoulder. Did she hear something? 

She nods. She gives you one last look and pulls her hand back. With that, she starts to walk away from you. 

“Wait!” you call in vain. She doesn’t stop. She doesn’t remember you. 

You pound against the wall of ice until your knuckles bleed and you’re panting from the effort. “Please...” You rest your head against the wall. “I need to know if it’s her.” 

The ice shatters. You burst out with a wave of water that sweeps up the girl as well. 

* * *

The upper deck has already started flooding. Chairs, tables and leftover luggage are sucked out to sea. 

Freezing water weighs you down, but you manage to escape in the lifeboat with the baby. 

You try not to think of her mother, left on her own to die. But how can you not see Kamilla when the baby opens her eyes? They’re the same shade as Kamilla’s— glassy blue. Most newborns' eyes are blue... or so you’ve heard. 

You can’t believe you helped deliver a baby. Baby birds and mice you could handle. You even saw a lamb being born in Hoogland... 

You shake the memories from your head. Forget it. It’s been three years since then. This is  _Kamilla’s_  baby. Little Miss Azan. 

As familiar as the surname sounds, you have no right to project your hopes and expectations onto this child. 

How can you associate her with the Azran, after everything that’s happened? She’d be better off if she had nothing to do with the Relics’ puzzle. Azran or not, the puzzle has already caused her father to go missing. 

You should find her a nice family with a new name.

What about Kamilla’s last request, though?

Your deliberation is disturbed by a small sneeze. You gasp and gently dab the baby’s nose. “Are you cold?” 

There’s a blanket in the lifeboat’s survival kit, along with food, water and other supplies. That’s not enough for an hours-old baby. She needs medical attention, milk and warmth...

You scour the infinite sea for boats or birds who can get help. If Dad’s heard news of the sinking ship, he would have already sent out a rescue flock. 

You make a note to call your parents whenever you return to dry land. 

This _would_ happen on your first solo trip back to England. Mum was right— flying would have been faster and you’ve always preferred planes over ships. 

Then again, you never would have met Kamilla. You’d offered to help carry her luggage at the docks. She had  _a lot_  of bags, plus a baby on the way. 

Why was she travelling alone when she was so heavily pregnant? 

You asked if she had a partner or any relatives on-board. Dismissively, she said there were people waiting for her in London. 

In an effort to be polite, you didn’t pry any further. It was only after her baby was born that she told you the truth. 

The baby suddenly emits a cry, loud and reassuring as a ship’s horn. She’s a lively one!

“It’ll be fine,” you chuckle, rocking her back and forth. When that doesn’t work, you wonder if she’d like to hear a song. 

You haven’t touched your violin since you moved to America, so you’re probably tone deaf at this point. 

You start to hum anyway. The most obvious choice is  _A Song if the Sea_. The babyisn’t a fan. 

“Sorry...” You wince. Nothing Azran-related. That’s what you agreed. 

Instead, you try the lullaby Emmy doesn’t know you remember. That calms the baby down. You can almost see her smiling in her sleep. 

_Thanks, Emmy._

You release a shaky sigh. Reluctantly, you shrug the blanket off your shoulders and arrange it on the floor of the boat, making a cozy nest for the baby. You put her down, if only for a few moments.  

She’s heavier than she looks. Or maybe you’re just exhausted... 

You rub your arms against the ache and the cold. 

Come on— people have survived worse than this. How many passengers escaped from the Titanic? Seven hundred...? 

There were even a few who made it out of the water, nearly frozen to death—

Another shudder ripples through you. You squeeze your eyes shut. You can’t fall asleep— you need to guard the baby and keep lookout! 

But if anything happens, you’ll hear it... right? 

Next thing you know; your head is resting against the edge of the boat. 

Eyes drifting shut, your last sight is of the baby dozing peacefully in front of you. Her breathing sounds steady and her tiny hands are balled into fists. You smile drowsily.  

_Sleep tight, Aurora..._

* * *

“...Luke...!”

You feel arms beneath you, helping you sit up...

“Uncle Luke!”

Fingers brushing hair back from your forehead. You feel _warm._

“Come on, kiddo...” 

You take a short breath. Wherever you are, it reeks of damp and must. 

“It’s me, Kat!” 

“Kat...?” you croak. Your eyes are heavy, like they’re filled with sleep, but you force them open. 

Glassy blue eyes peer down at you. They belong to a young woman wearing a yellow coat. She tears off the coat and covers you with it. 

“Kat.” You say it with certainty this time, smiling weakly. “You’ve grown...”

Whoever’s holding you bundles you up in their arms. You shift your head to see Emmy grinning down at you. “You’re still a shrimp though.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing the next chapter of my multi-chapter fic... and then this happened. I was going to put it in my Aurora and Luke oneshot series but it seems to be its own thing. 
> 
> And yeah, the title is a weird version of “Do androids dream of electric sheep?” (aka Blade Runner) because... androids, I guess.


End file.
